Buster
by raileht
Summary: He kept getting betrayed. (DK)


**Buster**  
by: raileht

**Summary:** He kept getting betrayed.  
**Disclaimer:** The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
**Rating:** T, to be safe  
**Note:** _Written and posted at the Christine Baranski Community on November 25, 2011_

-o0o0o0o0o-

Buster was old, partially blind and walked slowly.

And he did not like Chicago, but he was there anyway. The weather was cold and he was used to living in the country where he had a nice house that was always warm and he had places to sleep in that was warmer. Nooks and crannies were his thing and he liked it like that. He was a country kid through and through and the city he was wandering about in was definitely not.

But that didn't stop him from doing his business, of course. Usually he liked to have bigger patches, farther places to look, but he made do with what he had.

His companion, Kurt McVeigh, just wished that somehow things won't end up the way it did the week before. Sometimes it was amazing how cruel people could be without thinking. Pissed him off actually and it took everything he had not to do anything about him during the last incident except report the meat shop to PETA.

Sure he liked meat and he's done his bit of hunting once or twice, but putting things like pepper or cayenne in patches of greens that surrounded the trees to stop dogs? That was cruel. He didn't like it and certainly not old Buster who'd gotten a snootful of whatever he unfortunately stumbled and sneezed like crazy, trying to get the stuff out of his nose.

Buster was old and it was pitiful watching him stumble about. His companion hoped there wouldn't be a repeat of that again. They both weren't too big a fan of the city.

Kurt walked his old arthritic friend slowly and waited patiently until about forty minutes later before they achieved their goal some blocks away from their new home in the city. By the time they headed back, it was colder and Buster's success bore evidence in his master's hand—a Baggie full of poop.

That was why one block away they found someone calling and Kurt looked up to see a dark figure walking towards them. It wasn't hard to figure out who it was so he met her halfway. Buster led the way and then stopped when she stopped as well, a foot or so between her and the large white German Shepherd and he didn't have to ask why.

Diane Lockhart had a dog but he was pretty sure Buster could fit the tiny fur ball into his mouth easy. Her reaction to him was expected because even if he was old and somewhat slow already with age as well as from an unknown old injury, he was still a large intimidating animal. His master never tested the fact before, but he was sure he could take someone down if he leapt onto them.

For a woman in high heels, a dress and on a Chicago sidewalk with a light coating of snow on the ground, he was pretty sure she wasn't about to take her chances either.

"When you said Buster, I didn't expect..." she trailed off, tilting her head sideways as she looked at the dog closely, a slight frown on her features as Buster looked back at her, "What happened to his eye?"

He gave her points for that. Not many people could see it immediately even while face to face with the dog, but she spotted it even at a distance. He wasn't surprised though since she too loved dogs and like a lot of kids at one point, entertained the idea of being a veterinarian when she was very little, "He's partially blind."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quietly, leaning down to look closer at the dog but maintained her distance. She was still far enough for Buster not to be able to bite her face off but he could still see the sympathy on her face for his dog. It warmed him on the inside. "How old?"

He wasn't not sure if she's talking to him or the dog even if they were the ones talking and Buster can't answer because she somehow seemed to be paying very close attention to the animal, as if staring at him would give her the answer as to what happened to his eye. "Not sure."

She looked at him, "What does that mean?"

"It means I don't know," he shrugged, "I didn't raise him."

"Oh."

"I found him driving through I-86," he explained and watched as she slowly began to crouch down, but didn't stop speaking, "No collar, limping and he had that look on his face...panicked, the way dogs look when they're lost."

"Someone threw him away," she guessed correctly, reaching forward with a bare hand while her other hand held on to the leather glove she had been wearing only moments before.

He didn't even notice her take it off. He was about to warn her not to make sudden movements, but somehow, for some reason unknown to him, Buster leaned forward and allowed her to scratch him below the ears, leaning his large head down and let his tongue loll out. Her coat, which he was sure cost a hell of a _lot_ more than his, fell onto the dirty moist sidewalk but she either didn't care or didn't mind.

"Impressive," Kurt said simply as he watched Buster slowly lift his head by a fraction and began to lick her hand. "He usually doesn't like strangers."

"Well, I don't either, but," she smiled up at him, "He's okay. Very handsome."

He smirked, "Buster knows his thing."

"That he does," Diane smiled, standing up but not before giving the dog another scratch. When they lost contact, the old mutt moved forward, taking full advantage of his height and moved his head towards her hand again, nudging it the way only dogs knew how and tried to coax her into touching him again.

A smile came to her face that told him she was indeed a goner. She'd quite clearly fallen in love with Buster already, as easy as that and there was no turning back. It was probably the thick white fur, maybe the beautiful brown expressive eyes or just the dog thing. Or all of it, but that didn't matter, not when she'd fallen completely and utterly in love.

He heard her speak like he had never heard before, close to baby talk, but not quite. It was soft though, very soft and spoke a lot about the side of her that very few were allowed to see, "Oh, someone wants more, huh? Come here while your master gets rid of your Baggie. Come on, Buster."

Kurt watched as she easily took his dog's leash and left him there while she finished the rest of the walk as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps he'd been duped by his own design. Did he just trade himself in for a dog?

And the dog was going along with it, ignoring _him_ and leisurely basking in the new attention that was being so graciously bestowed upon him. Diane Lockhart was cooing at the dog and the damned traitor was basking in her attention while he was left behind literally holding the bag. It was full of poop at that and there was Buster, making away with his lady like he never even existed.

So much for loyalty, he thought with a small grin as he threw the bag away and caught up with the two.

He was_ not_ about to be outdone by Buster, no sir.

-o0o-

Or maybe he was.

Because as it stood, he continued getting betrayed.

First, they got in and she let him—_Buster—_off his leash as if it's the most normal thing in the world. Next, he _stayed_, actually _stayed_, instead of scampering off the way he usually did. The damned traitor sat there, watching her expectantly and wagging his big fat tail, the big fat traitor. Even with one eye and a damned limp, the damned mutt knew how to work his way into someone else's date.

And of course, she ate it _all_ up, cooing more like he'd never heard her done and _actually_ leaned down to kiss his white head. She hadn't even kissed _him_ yet and when they first met, he had to _steal_ the first one and yet with Buster the traitor, she planted one on him faster than a New York minute.

Then, yes, the little traitor just flitted about like he was some kind of puppy again, following her around after she so easily handed her coat to him—_Kurt—_without even sparing him a glance, laughing when Buster opened his _large_ mouth full of _fangs_ and clamped it lightly around her hand. She followed as he pulled, high heels and long canine nails clicking away from him.

It was his loft, it was new and Kurt was hoping to show it around for her, but his dog was beating him to it, as if he owned the place. He stood there, her coat on his arm and listened to her laugh.

He was jealous of his dog. His half-blind, arthritic, old and moody dog named after Buster Keaton on a sheer whim.

Boy, he's never sunk so low. Not to mention he's never been so easily outdone in front of a woman before, not even by Bobby Crothers in the second grade when they fought over who would give Mary Ellen the flowers from the yard. He'd won that one even when it had been Bobby who tried to punch him and he'd just ducked out of the way.

He found them on his couch, sitting in front of a fire she started. Diane had her head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling and _damn it_, Buster had his head on her lap and she was stroking his head without thought. Of course she looked beautiful, in a warm and soft looking thick black dress that seemed to have been made just for her.

He bet it was cashmere, knowing her preference quite well now for the current trends though he wasn't about to admit he'd memorized his lover's fashion tastes. Her legs were perfectly showcased as well, even in the cold, in the length that she usually went with whenever she was with him and he was more than okay with that.

Thing is, he really just wasn't okay that Buster was stealing his thunder.

"This place is amazing," she said, her hand still stroking his dog and Buster giving him a bored, lazy look that said this old dog was definitely in heaven and was about to sleep at any moment.

It was an old converted loft with exposed beams and visible brick works and polished hard maple wood, all pristine and modernized while at the same time maintaining the warmth he was used to being surrounded in while in his rustic home back in the country.

During the early days, the place used to be a printing press but it went under and the building became abandoned until it was converted when lofts started to boom as ideal places to reside in. The former owner had moved out of the country after being caught in a scandal involving drugs and underage sex partners and prostitutes. Luckily, it coincided with Kurt's decision to get a place in the city as if fate had decided to give him a break.

The place sold for a lot less than Kurt had originally predicted, but the owner had been desperate. He'd gotten the place in a shameless steal and it wasn't too far from the heart of the metropolis to make his drive long, but not near enough for the night life to bug him. If anything, it was a comfortable location, more comfortable than he could have ever hoped for being in the city.

"Your decorator did a great job," and he didn't have to look at her to know she was smirking.

He nodded anyway, "You could say that."

"I just did."

The days they spent arguing over what furniture would go with his place, what was bad and what she simply would shoot him for before letting him buy. He hadn't anticipated for the whole affair to just spin into this wild hunt for pieces in his home but that was what happened.

Thankfully, she never shot him and they finished in the end and he got a nice looking loft worth living in in the city, not too far from the building where his new place of business was.

He'd decided to join some friends setting up shop for some sort of base for himself. He was in Chicago more often these days, visiting and coming in and out when he was approached about opening a lab by an old friend for the -enth time.

Setting up in a private laboratory in Chicago had been an idea that had already in the works for a while. They certainly weren't the first but Kurt and his group had enough expertise combined to form an elite group. He was the last to join and the last one they were waiting for even when construction and placing was already in the process. They knew him well, knew they _might_ have an in at some point so they kept pursuing him.

In the end, he gave in and believe it that he had gotten quite a ribbing for finally giving in, having had his friend bug him about the idea for more than four years already. He'd always said no, being he wasn't a fan of the city or Chicago, but when Diane Lockhart moved into the picture, their brief separation included, things changed. He still has his house in the country and _that_ was home, but Chicago would be the second home from then on.

He would be in ballistics, of course, but his companions would also handle the other aspects of the spectrum. He had two underlings in training, a pending right hand and a good office, fully equipped and up to date. Their set up wasn't bad either, in an old building that was restored and for the most part, his own lab was in the basement, perfect for testing guns and testing rounds.

And that's why now here he was, with a loft in the city, a business that was fast cementing a respectable reputation all around and in a relationship that was being threatened by his dog.

It wasn't too bad, really.

Except that his dog was totally bogarting his date and she was _letting_ him.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" he ventured, taking a seat next to her and watched as she smiled, petting his dog and just continued to stare at the beams running across his ceiling.

"It's pretty cold out," she said, "Why don't we stay in?"

He paused, "Since when did the cold ever bother you?"

"Since I met your very, very warm dog," she practically purred as she pulled Buster closer and the old mutt moved his head to rest onto her stomach as she slid further down in her seat, defying her usually perfect posture but she didn't appear to give a damn, "I can't believe you never mentioned you were taking him into the city."

Buster being in the country and Diane being busy was the main reason why she never had the chance to meet him. And now, here he was and she was definitely meeting him now.

"I didn't intend to," he said simply, "But I've been away a lot, he was getting lonely." He checked out the dog who was, indeed, asleep. "Not that he's lonely anymore."

Diane laughed that laugh of hers, "It's cute that you're jealous of your dog."

He didn't mind how she knew him well enough to know he was jealous. And it's not lost on him she might have been doing it on purpose. She so loved to tease him.

"I should introduce him to Justice," she hummed, smiling again, "He'll get jealous, like you, but once they get used to each other, it will be cute."

"Didn't think Diane Lockhart ever went for cute."

"I have my moments," she said simply, "Besides, it doesn't count with dogs. They are inherently cute. Unlike cats...who can be mean and spiteful that cancels out the cuteness."

"Cuteness? I didn't even know you knew that word."

"Shut up," she chuckled, looking at him with a grin, "Now, go find something to cook for me. I love Buster and he's mine."

"Lucky dog," he muttered, "Getting adopted from one home to another."

She chuckled, "He's had a hard life. He's earned it. Plus, he's quite the looker."

Kurt nodded, "Are we really talking about my dog's attractiveness?"

"Are you really jealous again?"

He stopped then thought for a moment, "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

She finally looked at him, head straight and eyes on him, "Now why?"

"You haven't even kissed me yet," he said simply. "You kissed him."

"Aw," she cooed, leaning closer but barely let her hand off of Buster's soft fur, "You're being cute. And not in an off-putting way."

"It's a gift," he shrugged, "But you still haven't kissed me."

"Well, then we better fix that," she whispered, reaching for his shirt's collar and pulled him closer until their lips met.

He liked to kiss very much and she's a great kisser even when she's got one hand deep into his dog's white fur so when she finally pulled back, leaving him a little breathless and placed another soft one on his chin simply because she could with a smile, he was not about to complain about anything. She can have the damned dog if she wanted to.

"I'll feed you," he finally said after his body started to remember how to breathe, "If you promise me one thing, Miss Lockhart."

"Name it," she hummed, her hand still curled around into his shirt and the look on her face, in her eyes, told him they are definitely _not_ going out tonight. And that was okay, because he did have something to ask of her.

"The dog stays _outside_ the bedroom tonight," he said, not at all missing the fact that it was his house and his dog. He was smart enough to figure out by now that she owned him, owned whatever he has and she was, essentially, the boss.

Oh, and also the part where she was, without question, going to be spending the night and most likely, most of her morning the following day, in his new loft.

"That sounds bad," she laughed, but it's not her usual laugh. It's the low, sexy laugh she usually has whenever they're together and alone. "Very bad, Mr. McVeigh."

"It is," he nodded, "That's why I don't want the dog to see."

"Yes, poor thing should not be subjected to such bad behavior," she hummed, "Sounds doable...but only if you feed me."

"Whatever the lady desires..." he said only to be pulled into another kiss, this time deeper and he was definitely-definitely not going to complain and definitely _not_ jealous of Buster anymore now that both her hands are on him and she was pulling on him until he's almost on top of her.

Diane had that wicked smile when she pulled back and he quietly panted for air as he held on to her and said the first word that came to his suddenly hazy mind, "Wow."

An even wickeder smile came on her lovely face, "You were saying something about leaving the dog outside?"


End file.
